100 Ways to Love Dean Winchester
by WaffleHouseRock
Summary: There's nothing in this world Sam cares about more than his older brother. But when you're no good with words, how can you tell someone how you feel? Through actions, of course.
1. Cooking

The kitchen was a disaster.

It wasn't a paper towel commercial kind of disaster, either. This was a dough stuck to the ceiling, black smoke coming from the over, singed eyebrow kind of disaster. In the middle of the carnage sat a frustrated Sam Winchester and a burnt-smelling Castiel, cookbook open between them.

"I told you already, Cas. We can't just dump all of the ingredients in at once. It's like a chemistry experiment." Sam ran a hand over his face, adding a new layer of flour and failed cooking to his skin. Cooking a meal was not a new concept to Sam, but baking a pie with help from Cas was definitely out of his league.

Cas looked at him blankly, still holding a wet cloth to where his eyebrows used to be. It had been his turn to remove their attempt at food creation from the oven when it had caught fire. There was still fire extinguisher foam stuck in Sam's hair.

"Sam, I think it would be wise if we took a break from this. We should clean up the kitchen before Dean returns home, as he will be displeased to see it in this state."

Shit. Dean would be pissed if he came home to Sam and Cas and a blown-up kitchen. When Cas was right, he was right.

Sam looked around him at the chaos that was his kitchen and sighed. The whole reason him and Cas were in here, trying to create something that could be considered food, was because of Dean.

Since Sam and Dean had settled into the bunker, the kitchen was Dean's domain. Sure, Sam was allowed in to make food a handful of times, but Dean needed order in his culinary sanctuary. He needed knives always put back in the knife holder, and an oven that didn't have five layers of _something_ caked to the inside. Nine times out of ten, Sam was shooed from the kitchen if he even thought about cooking.

But Dean had been off lately. His corny one-liners were laced with cynicism. He drank more but went after chicks in bars less. He wouldn't even watch the game with Sam on Sundays anymore, choosing to sit in his room instead.

Sam was pretty sure Dean's distance was caused by his recent demonic activities. They had patched up the hole in the wall as soon as Dean was cured, but he still avoided that hallway like the plague. So Sam was trying to show Dean that he still cared about him, that there wasn't any bad blood between them.

Heh. Bad blood.

Sam laughed at his own joke as he stood in the middle of his self-created war zone. He opened his mouth to let Cas in on his joke, but shut it immediately as he realized that the graceless angel probably wouldn't find it that funny anyway. So he settled on giving Cas a defeated look, disheartenment filling his eyes as he sobered up with thoughts of his most recent failure.

"You're right. Let's just throw out this mess and forget about it. Dean will be home soon."

Sam looked around, trying to find a good place to start cleaning. There wasn't one. Suddenly his view of the kitchen was blocked by Castiel, staring at him with those big eyes and standing way too close.

"Dean will appreciate the effort. Perhaps we can buy a pie for him, or a magazine that he likes."

Cas' heart was in the right place, but a convenience store pie just wasn't the same. Plus, porn magazines were only given on special occasions, and it sure as Hell wasn't Dean's birthday. Sam couldn't help but smile at his angel friend, even if his personal space was being invaded.

"Seriously, Cas, it's cool. If we clean the kitchen really well, that will be enough of a gift for Dean. I just wish you had your angel juice to help us."

Cas nodded thoughtfully at Sam's words, and seemed to consider them reasonable.

"I too wish that my grace was restored. Although we would not be in this mess, for I could have simply created a pie. The oven was much more difficult to use than I anticipated."

As Cas droned on about the complexity of large appliances, Sam idly picked up things that looked salvageable. He had just wanted to express his feelings to Dean through food, and it had turned into a nightmare. If the oven was beyond repair, the only feeling Dean would be expressing would be anger, and Sam regret. Sam wished he wasn't such a fuckup as he tried to pull a spatula from a giant wad of dough, wincing as the dough stuck fast and stretched like chewed gum. They hadn't even used a spatula.

Sam heard Cas mumbling to himself as he dug through one of the cupboards. He emerged with an aerosol can in his hand, his triumphant eyebrowless face beaming at Sam.

"I have found the required chemicals for cleaning the oven. I will offer to clean it, as I would like to learn more about its interior."

No fucking way. Oven cleaner was pretty nasty on its own, but in the hands of Cas? Dean would throw Sam out for good if he let Cas "learn more" about the inner workings of their oven. So he made a mad dash through the wreckage, grabbing up the aerosol from Cas and placing himself protectively between the angel and the oven. Cas looked at him in confusion, trying to figure out why Sam was in such a panic.

"Whoa, hey, Cas, don't worry about it buddy. I mean, cleaning the oven isn't really a big deal. I think, I think Dean wants a new one anyway. So, yeah. Hey, you know what? There's a spatula stuck in some dough over there, and it's just, it's Dean's _favourite_ spatula and I thought maybe you could…"

Sam hoped his fast talking would work on Cas, visions of Dean coming home to a crater in the ground where the bunker once stood at the forefront of his mind. Hope fluttered in his heart as Cas' eyes lit up, turning to inspect the spatula situation.

"Sam, I will not let you down. If that is Dean's favourite spatula, I will surely free it from its doughy prison."

Sam let out a laugh as the angel turned away, half at the fact that Cas had said "doughy prison", and half at the bullet he had just dodged.

Now that Cas was preoccupied - Sam, this is proving to be a much more difficult task than I previously thought - Sam could focus on actually cleaning the oven. It had stopped smoking (for the most part), so Sam could get his head inside without choking. He was now 98% sure that after all the grime had been scraped off, the oven would work just as fine as it usually did. Dean would never know this had happened.

And after they were done cleaning, which might be never, Sam would take Cas' advice and buy a pie. Not a pre-frozen slab of chemicals, which Dean usually ate, but something warm and from a pastry shop and probably really expensive. It wouldn't be made from his heart, but it would be made from someone else's, and Sam figured that was close enough.

Sam realized that Cas wouldn't be able to keep today's adventure to himself, nor could he hide the fact that his eyebrows were burnt off. As soon as Dean got home, he would know. Sam scrubbed a little harder at the oven, imagining the sound of Dean's footsteps in the hall behind him. He hoped with all his might that Dean loved him enough to not ask questions. Because no amount of oven cleaner could scrub away the white-hot embarrassment pooling in Sam's heart.


	2. Licorice

For Sam, it was the little things that made life bearable.

This week's hunt had gone particularly smooth, with Sam finding the hideout of this week's monster _and _ delivering the fatal shot to end a nasty string of murders. John had been impressed, as Sam still lacked the finesse necessary to use a sawed-off shotgun accurately. He was only 11, after all.

Sam's reward for finally managing to actually hit something with the shotgun was being the one to pick this weekend's movie snack. Sam raced through the convenience store, dollar bills from his father stuffed in his coat pocket.

Dean always got to pick their snacks, as he was older and made most of the kills. The trouble was, Dean always picked licorice. Sam hated licorice. He had tried to reason with Dean that popcorn was a much better snack, a healthier snack even, but Dean stuck to his guns. So Sam would watch their weekend movie in stubborn silence, glaring at Dean over a class of water as his older brother munched on licorice.

Tonight would be a different story, however.

Sam eyed the popcorn and ran for it, tightly gripping the crumpled money in his pocket. He couldn't wait to shove it in Dean's face, and cackle as his brother watched him eat in disgust. Sam knew that Dean was pissed that he had won the rights to the snack picking, but Sam didn't care. This victory was a long time in the making.

Sam reached for a bag of popcorn, fireworks going off in his mind as he imagined eating it later. Dean would be so angry.

Dean.

Why was Dean angry?

Sam turned the bag of popcorn over in his hands, smile fading from his face. Now that he thought about it, Dean had been grouchy all week. The hunt had gone without a hitch, no one had been hurt; so why was Dean in such a sour mood?

Then it hit Sam like a ton of bricks. He remembered Dean chatting up some kids when they first arrived in town. They were all around Dean's age, and seemed to think he was pretty cool. Sam remembered a girl, with a pretty dress and eyes for his brother. She had come to their motel room, asking for Dean. But they were getting ready for the hunt, so Dean had promised her that they could meet up later.

Well, there never was a later. Sam had been so busy researching that he had forgotten about Dean's new friends. John had kept both boys so preoccupied with target practice and combat training that Dean never got to hang out with them even once. And now, on their last night in town, Dean was stuck watching movies with Sam while their father got drunk at the local bar.

Sam gripped the popcorn bag tighter, crushing the pre-popped delicacies in his fists. He had been selfish; why would he even want to make Dean angry? Dean was his only friend, and he deserved better than babysitting a bratty little brother while his friends went to the arcade.

He slammed the popcorn back on the shelf and made a bee line for the candy aisle.

For Sam, the little things in life were the things that were most important. Like having someone who always had his back. Or whose smile could light up a room, although it was rarely around these days. So if a simple bag of licorice would be enough to put a smile on Dean's face, then licorice it would be. Because the littlest things were sometimes also the biggest.


	3. Christmas

The streets of Winchester, Tennessee were alive with busy shoppers and blinking Christmas lights as a sleek black Impala pulled to a stop outside of the Super 8. Almost no one noticed as two boys stepped from the car, polar opposite expressions on their faces.

"C'mon man, this town was made for us!" Dean was all wide eyes and waving hands as he took in the Christmas scenes around them. It was a week before Christmas, which meant there was only a week left to convince Sam that Christmas celebrations were happening. Whether he liked it or not.

Sam was scowling at Dean, trying to get out of the way of a group of moms with strollers, and failing. The moms merely gripped their shopping bags tighter and shot angry looks at Sam as they passed, darkening the younger Winchester's already foul mood. "Just because we share a name with this stupid town does not mean that it was "made for us"." Sam used air quotes to make his point. Christmas just wasn't his thing, and there was still a week left of Dean badgering him about celebrating. Sam was absolutely not "getting into the Christmas spirit", whether Dean liked it or not.

Dean wasn't going to let his little brother ruin Christmas for him, so he shrugged and gave Sam the biggest, corniest smile he could muster. Sam looked appalled. "Sam, if you would just pull that giant stick out of your ass, you would have a lot more fun." Dean glided towards their motel of choice, while Sam stood hunched on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

It wasn't that Sam had anything against Christmas in particular. He was all about family moments, so a holiday pretty much dedicated to spending time with relatives should have been right up his alley. But to spend time with relatives, you needed relatives who weren't dead, or worse.

Every time Sam saw a commercial with some all American family sitting down to a fake dinner with fake smiles and fake laughs, he couldn't help but imagine himself in that situation. What was Christmas like for people who had parents to visit? Who was still alive for Sam to send a Christmas card? How could he really feel like he was "home for the holidays" if he had no home?

Sam trudged into the lobby of the Super 8 just as Dean was wishing the girl at the front desk a _very_ merry Christmas. As the girl left to file papers in a back room, Dean elbowed Sam and leaned over to whisper, "Get a load of that Christmas spirit."

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed their room key from Dean's hand. "You're gross," he shot at Dean, although a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was pretty hard to pretend to be really angry when Dean was giving him that goofy grin.

"Where's some mistletoe when you need it?" Dean asked no one in particular as he popped a candy cane in his mouth. Sam huffed and began the search for their room. He could handle a week of this nonsense, he knew he could. He could ignore Dean and his Christmas crap for the rest of the week, finish their hunt, and get the Hell outta Dodge - er, Winchester.

As the days went by, Dean tried to bring out the holly jolly in Sam. He hummed Christmas tunes while they were in the car. He casually pointed out fake Christmas trees that would fit in their hotel room. He even bought turkey and mashed potato microwavable dinners and hid them in the mini fridge, although Sam had seen them and given them a disapproving look.

Sam was starting to think that Dean had made up the fact that there was a case in Winchester, and that his brother had simply wanted to visit the town because of the name. When he finally confronted Dean, he was met with "What? No! are you kidding me?" and a look of incredulity. Dean had then turned up the radio loud enough to drown Sam out, so their conversation ended.

Sam wasn't letting this one go, though. There was no reason for them to be hanging around this backwater town, wasting time at the coffee shop all day, when they could be working a real case. It wasn't at all that this town seemed to bring out the Christmas in his brother, and that Sam was drowning in it.

It was Christmas Eve when Sam finally had enough of the holiday and his fake case. All of Dean's "leads" had turned out to be nothing more than people who believed too strongly in karma or goblins for their own good. Goblins in Tennessee? Please. To top it all off, Dean had bought some Christmas window stickers, which were now plastered on the bathroom mirror and the tiny window of their room.

Sam couldn't handle the tiny dancing elves watching him from the mirror while he brushed his teeth. He ripped the sticker off of the mirror, balled it up and threw it in the trash. With a sigh of relief he got back to his nightly routine, only to have Dean's reflection staring at him instead. Sam's surprise made him spit his toothbrush into the sink.

"Why'd you have to do that, man? Those elves never did anything to you."

Dean's flannel-of-the-day was red and white, not exactly a Christmas sweater but definitely more Christmassy than his usual attire. Sam was exasperated.

"Because every time I turn around there's some other Christmas _thing_ staring me in the face! I just want to close this case, which I'm pretty sure you made up, and get out of this town."

Dean had been tolerating Sam's bratty attitude all week in the name of the season. His little brother had been so uptight lately (not that he wasn't always uptight), and Dean just wanted to give him some fun for a change. But if Sam was going to start a fight, on Christmas Eve of all days, then Dean would have to get serious.

"First of all, I didn't make up this case. Not every lead works out; I'm not God, okay? And second, why are you being such a bitch about Christmas? I thought you liked all that family bonding, sentimental shit."

If Sam hadn't been stewing for the past week in his own hatred of Christmas, he would have heard what Dean was really saying. Dean loved Christmas because it was about family; Sam was his family. He was only trying to find fun things for them do to together, because they had missed out on so many holiday seasons as kids. But Sam had been stewing, and so he missed all of the subtext he was usually so keen on reading.

So Sam blew up in Dean's face.

"I do like that family bonding shit, Dean. I am all about that family bonding shit, except _I don't have any family left to bond with._ Every time I hear one of those stupid songs or see some stupid kids in a toy store I'm reminded of how much our Christmases sucked. We had nothing, Dean; no tree, no Christmas dinner, no Dad. We sat alone in a motel room while Dad got drunk. So you can have your shitty Christmas stickers and your TV dinners and pretend your childhood wasn't shit, but leave me out of it. I don't want to be reminded every time I open my eyes that all of my family is dead."

Sam's chest was heaving, his face red from shouting, but Dean was just a blank slate. A calm, collected face of stone which was unreadable, but hid an ugly storm brewing inside.

"Do I mean nothing to you, Sam?"

Sam blinked in surprise. He hadn't been sure what Dean was going to say, but he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be that. "Uh, of course you do. Why would-"

"Because last time I checked, we're family. You don't have to tell me what Dad did because I was the one who was told "I'll try to be back for Christmas, there's money on the table, though" every goddamn year. You wouldn't even have memories of TV dinners if I hadn't gone out and bought them, because I thought you should have turkey on Christmas like the other kids. I tried to give you a good Christmas, even though we had nothing."

All of Sam's anger had been washed away with every word Dean said, replaced by dread.

"But I get it now. What I did wasn't enough for you. Me and you, as a family, wasn't enough. So I'm sorry if it wasn't the perfect TV commercial Christmas you wanted, but it was ours and it was all I had."

"Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Oh you meant every word of it, Sammy." Dean was barely holding back a snarl, but his eyes were overflowing with hurt. "I'll stop bothering you with my shitty Christmas stickers and my Christmas if that's what you want. Go ahead and find a real family to spend Christmas with, but I'm gonna stay here with my TV dinners and _my_ family. Oh wait, they're all dead."

Sam held Dean's gaze uncomfortably, unable to say anything. When he finally looked away, Dean snorted and left Sam standing in the bathroom. He listened as Dean shuffled to his bed, plopped down with a sigh and pretended to go to sleep.

Well, shit. Sam was such an idiot. He wouldn't trade his Christmases with Dean for the world, he just wanted some normalcy. Unfortunately, shouting at Dean and basically telling him that they weren't family was not the best way to get his feelings across. Sam held his face in his hands. How was he going to fix this?

Dean woke up the next morning, Christmas morning, giddy like a child. All of his excitement sank into disappointment, however, as Sam emerged from the bathroom. He was showered and dressed, and ready to face Christmas head on. Dean pretended not to notice the dark circles under Sam's eyes, which meant that his brother had been awake all night.

When Sam caught his eye, the younger Winchester gave him an awkward smile.

"Merry Christmas?"

Dean blinked slowly at his brother and sighed. That wasn't going to be enough of an apology, not when Sam had ruined his favourite holiday. So instead of returning the greeting, Dean got out of bed, walked past Sam without a word, and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

The first thing Dean noticed about the bathroom was the smell. The air was still warm from Sam's shower and smelled like… gingerbread? Dean whipped back the shower curtain and was greeted by a bottle of gingerbread body wash. All of the other soap was gone, probably removed by Sam.

Dean was confused. I mean, Sam was pretty girly, but this? This was a lot. Shaking his head, Dean put the soap behind him and grabbed his toothbrush. Which was when he saw the mirror.

Someone had written "Merry Christmas" with their finger on the steamed up glass, that someone being Sam. And in the corner, crumpled but still intact, was the elf sticker Sam had thrown out the day before.

Dean wasn't ready to forgive Sam yet, but Sam was making a pretty good case for himself. Dean had just wanted to do all of the cheesy Christmas stuff with Sam that other families did, and now Sam was finally playing along. After sleeping on it, Dean was starting to see Sam's side of the argument, and found it to be pretty valid. Their childhood Christmases had sucked.

Dean showered, forced to use Sam's girly gingerbread soap, and decided that they would go somewhere nice for breakfast. Sam's holiday greetings were his silent agreement to do the Christmas thing this year, and Dean wanted it to be perfect. Maybe he could convince Sam to make a habit of it.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, neither Winchester saying anything about the cloud of gingerbread that hung in the room. Dean cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of Sam's feelings about last night's fight.

"Hey, uh, wanna get breakfast?"

It was a totally normal thing for Dean to ask, and he was being totally awkward about it. Sam tried to hide his amusement, biting his lip to hold back a smile.

"I think there's a diner down the street."

Dean's eyes lit up at the prospect of a greasy breakfast, but he tried to stay casual. He shrugged and pretending he was mulling over the idea. "Well, I mean, if that's where you wanna go," Dean said as he held up his hands in a non-committal gesture. Sam nodded, and Dean didn't need to be told twice.

In the parking lot, Sam started to fidget. Dean could feel his brother tense up as the Impala came into view. He jumped in front of his moose of a brother, pinning him in place with a piercing stare. "What is up with you? Last night you almost chew my head off, today we're good and now you're almost jumping out of your skin? Are you on drugs?" Dean seriously considered for a moment the fact that his brother might actually be on drugs.

"What? No Dean, I'm not on drugs. I'm fine, I'm just… Trying to get into the Christmas spirit?"

Dean definitely did _not_ believe that for a second, but he decided that he would let it go. Until Sam wouldn't get in the car.

Dean stared at his obviously uncomfortable brother over the roof of the Impala. Sam looked like he was about to have a mental breakdown.

"Seriously, Sam, what is your problem." Dean wasn't asking anymore.

Sam looked everywhere but at Dean. "It's just, it's such a nice day out. I-I thought we could, y'know, walk to the diner."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. "Get in the damn car," he said sternly, while hopping into the driver's seat and putting the key in the ignition.

Apparently that was enough to get Sam moving, as he practically ripped the door off the frame, trying to scramble inside. Dean heard Sam shout "Wait! Dean, I can explain…!" before he was cut off by a crooning country singer wailing their own rendition of "Santa Baby".

As soon as Dean had started the car, Christmas music had started blasting from the speakers. A tiny set of lights was strung across the dashboard, powered by the cigarette lighter. A new air freshener hung from the rear view mirror, filling the car with a lovely apple pie smell.

Dean looked around at his mini Christmas setup, utterly shocked. He turned to Sam for an explanation, but found himself unable to do anything but stare. Sam looked like he might die of embarrassment and horror.

"Look, Dean, I didn't mean what I said last night. I just wanted something normal for a change.. I know you're my family, and the car is kind of like our home so I thought…"

Sam trailed off, looking down at his lap. Of course this wasn't enough to fix what he had done to Dean. A string of lights and an air freshener weren't going to make Dean forget about the nasty things Sam had said. He peeked at Dean from the corner of his eye, expecting to be met with a glare. But what he saw in Dean's face wasn't anger, or disappointment.

"Sammy, this is… how did you do this? _When_ did you do this?" Dean felt like he was seven years old and he had just got a brand new bike for Christmas. He poked at the lights as Sam laughed nervously.

"I, uh, I got the lights from a hardware store down the street. There was nowhere to plug them in, so I cut the wires and rigged them to a phone charger that fits into the lighter. The cassette came from an old vinyl shop." Sam felt a little better as Dean's eyes grew wider at his explanation. Dean wasn't angry, far from it in fact.

"So when did you sneak out to play Santa's little helper?" Sam still hadn't answered Dean's second question.

"Last night," Sam said with a shrug. He tried acting casual about it, like secretly decorating the Impala in the middle of the night was something he did all the time. Dean grinned.

"What about the air freshener?" It was Sam's turn to grin, all dimples and mischief.

"Stole it from the dollar store."

"Awesome."

Dean drove them to the diner, where they ordered huge breakfasts and threw hash browns at each other. They spent the day window shopping, posing with mannequins and being given stern looks by shop owners. As the sun was setting they caught a movie at the Oldham Theatre, a charming building from the 50's which had been restored to its original glory. Dean leaned towards Sam, not taking his eyes off the B-list action scene playing out in front of him.

"You know, this town is actually pretty awesome."

Sam nodded to himself before saying, "Makes sense, though."

Dean tore his eyes away from the screen to look at Sam, who was grinning at some unknown joke. Dean gave him a questioning look, which caused him to grin even wider.

"Dean, this town was made for us."


	4. Suits

Dean loved being an FBI agent. People respected him and listened to his orders. He could pretend that his job was real, and that he had a source of income that wasn't hustling pool. Plus, it was awesome being called "agent".

Sam knew how much their fake jobs meant to Dean, which is why he was currently dragging his brother through a fancy dress store. Dean was grumbling about monkey suits and rich assholes, but Sam knew that Dean would have a thousand suits in his closet if he could afford them.

"Sam, no one's gonna notice if our suits are old. Lots of people wear old suits." Now that was a lie. Real police officers had been giving the brothers weird looks lately, and Sam knew that it wasn't his hair this time. Dean had even pointed out that they looked like they had jumped out of a 90s cop drama, and then fiercely denied ever watching one.

"Dean, I'm missing part of my jacket because it caught fire. Because I was _burning bodies_ in it. That smell is never gonna come out. It's not like this is gonna break our bank account anyway." Today's purchase was courtesy of a Mr. James Morrison, a credit card that Sam had got last week. They still had a few days before it needed to be cut up, and Sam wanted it to live up to its full potential.

Dean crossed his arms and tried to look unimpressed. "Fine. Just don't spend an hour trying to find the right coloured tie."

Sam withheld a smile, because it was usually him saying those words to Dean when they went shopping. Despite his bitching about the whole ordeal, Dean liked to look good. If they were going to spend someone's hard earned money on suits, they might as well get something nice.

Sam had once confronted Dean about his obsession with formal wear. "We never had much growing up. It's just nice to own something new sometimes," had been Dean's response to his pestering.

Sam understood completely, having worn Dean's hand-me-downs for most of his childhood. Sometimes his "new" clothes already had bullet holes or claw marks in them. It was always exciting when he got a shirt with all of the buttons still intact, or a pair of pants with no blood stains. When there was money left over, and John would give the boys the option to pick what they wanted, most times it was new clothes.

Sam absentmindedly browsed through the rows and rows of suits, knowing that there was nothing there that would fit him. He was much too tall. So he looked for things that he thought Dean would like, and occasionally said yay or nay to what Dean had picked out himself.

While Dean plowed through some vests on a discount rack, Sam made his way over to the tie section. They had owned silk ties once, but through some laundromat accident they had been destroyed. Dean had mourned those ties as if they were family. The cheap department store ties worked just as well, but Sam had noticed some disappointment in Dean every time they wore them.

Sam was going to surprise Dean with new ties for the both of them, because Sam should really look nice too. FBI agents made enough to afford silk ties, and Sam was good enough at credit card fraud to afford them too. The only issue would be hiding his purchase from Dean.

Sam grabbed as many jackets in one hand as he could and strode towards Dean with purpose. If Dean had lots to try on, he would be preoccupied long enough for Sam to make his purchase. Dean was still rifling through discount vests when Sam shoved a handful of jackets into his chest.

"Dude, what the hell." Sure, credit cards weren't limitless, but Dean figured that they could probably slide in a vest or two, especially if they were on sale.

Sam made a face like he was uncomfortable. How could he convince Dean that these jackets needed to be tried on? "Look, I know there's a vest in there with your name on it, but what we really need are new suits. Just try these on, okay?" Dean didn't look convinced. Sam sighed, still shoving the fistful of jackets into Dean's chest. "I thought we could, y'know, get matching ones."

Now that caught Dean's attention. His eyes went wide for a split second before he regained his composure. Sam knew he had taken the bait.

"Yeah, well, if it's that important to you, Sammy." Dean took the jackets from Sam, trying his best to seem indifferent about the whole situation. Sam had his lips pursed in that bitchy way of his, so Dean turned his back and went into the dressing room. Sam never wanted to match, said it was lame. Well, Sam was lame. Now they could finally look awesome, like the Men in Black. Dean wondered if he could convince Sam to get matching sunglasses.

With Dean out of the way, Sam could browse the tie section in peace. There were a lot of options, and Sam wasn't exactly a tie connoisseur. A perky sales associate tried to help him decide, but Sam didn't like anything she picked. So he pointed her in the direction of his brother, who would appreciate the help and the view.

Sam decided on two matching navy blue ties, with no patterns, because life was too short for ties with patterns. He paid for the ties and stuffed them in his coat pocket just as Dean emerged from the dressing room, admiring himself in the store's full length mirror. Sam could see Dean and the saleswoman speaking excitedly, so he waited until she left before making his way over.

Dean looked excited. "Whadya think, Sammy? Do I look like Tommy Lee Jones or what?" The suit that Dean had on was nice, but to Sam it looked like everything else in the store. Of course, he couldn't ruin Dean's moment, so he stowed his confusion.

"Uh, yeah, that's why I picked it out. Tommy Lee Jones. You look just like him."

"Hell yeah I do. Hey, we should get sunglasses." Sam wasn't sure where this was going, but if sunglasses would keep that stupid grin on his brother's face, then they would get all the sunglasses Dean wanted.

"Yeah, Dean, we can get sunglasses." Sam wasn't sure if Dean was even listening, as the older Winchester had turned to look at himself in the mirror again. Sam caught the eye of Dean's reflection. "So are you going to buy that or are you just going to stand here all day?"

Dean broke eye contact, mumbling something which was no doubt curses aimed at Sam. Whatever. Sam waited until Dean was in the dressing room again before he knocked on the door. "Hey Dean? I'm gonna run to the store across the street, see if they have anything in my size." With that he slid his credit card under Dean's door and took off running.

It took two seconds for Dean to reply "Yeah, sure," and watch Sam slide the credit card under the door. It took five more seconds for Dean to realize that if they were shopping at different stores, then their suits wouldn't match. Ten seconds from when Sam had made his escape, Dean realized that he had been played.

Later, when Dean barked at Sam in the big and tall store about hurt feelings and misplaced trust, Sam agreed to finding a suit that would match as close as possible to Dean's. Sam even picked out their matching sunglasses, which Dean did not admit were pretty badass.

When Sam presented Dean with his tie after supper, he could see that his brother was touched. He had been offhanded and indifferent but in the end had said thank you and meant it. Sam knew that words like "thank you" and "sorry" were often hard to come by in the Winchester family, so he knew that his gift had really meant something. Sam tried to remember the little things that he knew were important to Dean, because Dean did the same thing for him.

Dean liked being an FBI agent. He liked pretending that he and Sam worked for MIB. He liked putting on his sunglasses and knowing that he was dressed to kill. Really. He liked a lot of things about his job, but he loved that Sam was a part of it, making their act believable with the painstaking care he took in their costumes and back stories. He even threw in an inside joke for Dean sometimes, knowing that his brother would appreciate it. Like today's badges, for example.

Special agents Kevin Brown and James Edwards, at your service.


	5. Trials

It was a Friday afternoon, and the Winchester boys were seated at their dining room table, sorting through piles of books. Dean was engrossed in a chapter of "Methods Regarding the Interrogation and Persecution of Demons: Part 1", when a sound broke his train of thought.

Dean looked at Sam, thinking he had been the cause of the sound. He had been too absorbed in his book to really distinguish what the sound had been. Sam looked like he was about to fall asleep, staring blankly at his book without actually seeing the words. Dean smacked Sam's arm to get his attention, resulting in the younger Winchester jolting upright in surprise. Maybe the kid had been asleep.

"Man, are you alright? Usually you give this nerd stuff 110% percent, but you're staring at that book like it's gonna bite you if you flip the page."

Once the initial shock of being shaken from his daze had worn off, Sam relaxed back into his chair. He looked a lot more worn than Dean ever remembered, his face drooping and his eyes red and glassy. He ran a hand through his messy hair, brushing some loose strands from his face.

"I'm fine, Dean. I'm just tired and "The Revised Notes of Travis Thropp, Pertaining to Ways in Which a Soul Might be Freed from Hell" isn't exactly a national best-seller."

Dean flipped absentmindedly through his book, and he had to agree with Sam. "Ditto. I'm pretty sure whoever wrote this thought that they were the next Homer. No one uses the word "verisimilitude", ever."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Huh. I didn't even know you knew who Homer was."

Even when he was tired, Sam could still manage to get a dig in, the cheeky bastard. Dean went back to reading his book, pointedly ignoring Sam. "Yeah, well, you're not the only one with a high school education, Plato."

Since Sam decided not to reply to that, the boys fell in to a comfortable silence. That was interrupted, however, by another sound. Dean hadn't had time to focus on his reading, so this time he heard the sound clearly.

Sam was sniffling.

Dean turned to look at Sam again, who caught Dean moving from the corner of his eye and moved to face his older brother.

"Sam."

"Dean?"

"You're sniffling."

"Oh." Sam hunched down further in his seat, trying to make himself seem as small as possible. He didn't want to have this conversation. Again.

"Sam, if you would just-"

"Just what, Dean? Sit around and watch movies while you read all of these books? Eat some chicken noodle soup and take a nap, like when I was five and had the flu? This won't go away just by drinking some cough syrup, so I might as well be useful. The trials are my problem, anyway, not yours."

Ever since Sam had cut open that Hellhound, effectively completing the first trial, he had been sick. There wasn't a day since then that Dean could remember when Sam hadn't looked pale and bone tired. Being the stubborn little bitch that he was, he wouldn't take Dean's advice when Dean told his brother to get some rest, to relax, to avoid research in general. Sam would soldier on, barely able to eat, and Dean would watch him like a hawk, fear for his brother's health crashing over him in waves every time Sam faltered.

It had been three days since Sam had slept during the night for more than two hours. It had been four days since Dean had been in his own bedroom for more than 20 minutes.

In reality, there was nothing Sam wanted to do more than curl up in bed and sleep for days. He knew Dean was right about the whole "don't overwork yourself" thing, but he couldn't let Dean do all of the work while he watched from the sidelines. This was his chance to close the gates of Hell, _forever_. Sam wasn't willing to give up on that chance, even if it killed him.

Despite his intentions to get some serious research in before lunch, Sam felt his eyelids drooping. Dean was roused from his reading once more by the _thud_ of Sam's head hitting his book, eyes closed.

Dean rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. Sam either needed to take care of himself, or let Dean take care of him. Since neither were happening any time soon, Dean was left to stew in his own worry and watch Sam slowly fall apart.

It was almost lunchtime, but Dean couldn't eat. He had recently given up trying to force feed Sam, and it didn't seem right making lunch for one when there was two of them. Instead, Dean walked his well traveled path to the cabinet where the Winchesters kept their liquor.

When Sam finally woke from his nap, he found a bottle of Jack Daniels blocking his view of Dean. He was too tired to move it, but luckily Dean was willing to oblige. Sam watched as Dean poured himself a drink and shot it back in one go.

Since he was feeling a bit more refreshed from his nap, Sam took the time to study Dean's face. He knew that Dean was stressed about the trials, but he was surprised at how much tension he saw in Dean's features. His jaw was clenched, and his mouth was turned into a frown that looked like it had been living comfortably on Dean's face for a long time. When Sam looked in the mirror every morning, a lot of what he saw in himself was also apparent in Dean.

Sam considered Dean's behaviour ever since the trials had begun. Every time Sam did anything, Dean was at his side, asking him how he was doing. Sam had pushed Dean away, not wanting to seem weak. He had tried to be strong for Dean, but here they were, Sam asleep on the table and Dean turning to alcohol for stress relief.

Sam knew that they both needed a distraction. Neither of them could do any research while exhausted or drunk. Sam knew exactly how to distract Dean, even if it came at the price of his own pride. As he watched Dean grab for the bottle again, he decided that he didn't have that much pride left, anyway.

Dean was just about to pour himself another whiskey on the rocks, hold the rocks, when Sam woke up. He couldn't help a little smile from breaking out on his face, as Sam looked a few steps farther from death than he had in a while. Dean pushed the bottle of Jack to his side farthest from Sam, sobering up as quick as he could.

"Hey Sammy, how're you feeling?"

Sam could see the hope in Dean's eyes, silently pleading with Sam to tell him the truth. He couldn't lie when under that gaze, not ever.

"Hungry, actually." Well, that was sort of a lie, but Sam figured he should eat anyway. It had nothing to do with the way Dean's eyes lit up in surprise, or the way his smile threatened to stretch across his whole face.

"Yeah? Well, tell me what you want and I'll make it." Dean felt a huge weight lift off of his shoulders. If Sam was finally willing to let Dean help, then maybe he could get better.

"Grilled cheese?" Sam didn't want to push himself too far, but he figured half of a grilled cheese sandwich wouldn't be too hard to force down.

Dean jumped up from his seat and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Grilled cheese it is then." Sam looked up and offered him a weak smile, his way of saying thanks. Dean sped off to the kitchen, before the unspoken appreciation in Sam's eyes ripped his heart in two.

As Sam took the first bite of his sandwich, he realized that he had been way hungrier than he thought. As he watched Dean practically swallow his own sandwich whole, Sam realized just how much Dean needed this down time, too.

Sam felt like a new person after eating, and wanted to use this energy to keep researching. Dean had a guilty expression on his face, though, so Sam figured he'd better get to the bottom of that first.

Dean squirmed under Sam's questioning stare, and eventually caved. "I was thinking, you know, we haven't watched a Jet Li movie in a while, and it might be nice to, you know, hang out. Not for long, I know you wanna keep digging through this book heap."

Dean didn't like Jet Li, thought Jet Li couldn't go one round if he was up against Chuck Norris. This was Dean grasping at straws, trying to get Sam to relax, even if it meant sitting through Fist of Legend for the thousandth time.

"You know, a movie would be good. Relax for a bit, y'know?" Sam couldn't help but grin as Dean's whole body visibly relaxed, his stress melting away in front of Sam's eyes. Dean wanted to take care of Sam so badly, so Sam would let him, in order to take care of Dean.

Dean grabbed all of the blankets he could find, including the ones from Sam's bed, and wrapped to two of them up in a cozy blanket fortress. Dean's room had the only TV in the bunker, which meant the brothers had to squeeze onto Dean's bed if they were going to share the blankets. Dean was adamant that they shared. Sam allowed Dean to coddle him, to ask him if he needed another glass of water or more blankets, because Dean needed it. He needed to help Sam in order to feel like he'd done his job, like his very existence had a meaning other than killing. Sam knew this, and decided he would ask for more from now on, so that Dean had an excuse to dote on him.

Five minutes into the movie, Dean fell asleep, leaning against Sam's shoulder. Since there was no way to escape the nest of blankets Dean had created without waking him, Sam committed himself to staying still until Dean woke up.

Sam studied the sleeping form beside him. All of the stress and tension that had been covering Dean's face earlier had melted away, leaving him to sleep in peace.

Sam wondered if Dean knew just how important these trials were to him. On one hand, they were a way for Sam to make up for all the bad things that had happened because of him. He could never be forgiven for setting Lucifer free, and all of the death that it caused. But this was a way to make sure that no demons ever hurt anyone again. If anything came remotely close to making up for almost causing the Apocalypse, this was it.

On the other hand, this was a way to finally give Dean the normal life he deserved. If there were no demons, no evil things escaping from Hell, then Dean could quit the life. He could have a home that wasn't a bunker in the ground, and a job that actually paid. He could even have a family, something Dean never talked about but Sam knew he wanted more than anything else.

Sam knew he would complete the trials, because he had to complete them, for Dean's sake. Much more research had to be done, but no more was going to happen today. Sam snuggled deeper into the blankets, his squirming not even noticed by a sleeping Dean beside him. Sam was glad that he had allowed Dean to take care of him; he had needed it much more than he thought.

As the showdown of the century blasted from Dean's TV, Sam allowed himself to be whisked away by unconsciousness, instinctively curling towards Dean as he fell into a deep sleep.


	6. Vegetables

If Sam tried to remember the last time that he had seen Dean eat a nutritious meal, the most recent thing he could come up with was when Dean had eaten some of his baby carrots last week by mistake.

Living on the road didn't promote a healthy living style, but Sam made the best of it. He ran every morning and drank decaf. He tried to choose healthy options, even when there weren't any. More than one diner waitress had looked at him quizzically when he tried to order a salad for breakfast.

Dean, however, was a whole other ball game. He fully embraced his road warrior lifestyle, saying goodbye to vegetables and sleep patterns and all sorts of other things Sam held dear. If they were staying in a town for any length of time, Dean usually got the groceries, so that Sam couldn't bring home any "rabbit food".

Sam was currently wishing for some rabbit food as he and Dean shared another romantic lunch at the local diner. As Sam watched Dean drive French fries into his mouth, he felt his sanity cracking. He imagined himself smashing Dean in the head with a cabbage, screaming at him to eat something healthy. Yeah, that would teach him. Dean would think twice about eating all this garbage if he had Sam to answer to, armed with vegetables and a can-do attitude.

Dean must have noticed the far-off look on his face, because Sam was startled out of his thoughts by a French fry hitting him in the face.

"Hello, Earth to Sam? What schemes are you scheming in that big brain of yours?" Sam elected to ignore the fry assault, and instead decided to move on to more pressing matters.

"I want to go to the grocery store." Dean went back to eating his fries, ignoring Sam's gaze.

"We just went for groceries." Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes, even if Dean wasn't looking.

"The 7-11 isn't a grocery store, Dean. I want to get some real food: you know, vegetables?"

Dean looked at Sam like he had suggested painting the Impala pink. "Vegetable" wasn't a word that was very prominent in Dean's vocabulary. "Fries are a vegetable," he managed to say around a mouthful of fries. Sam was less than impressed.

"We can pick up the last ingredients for that witch killing spell," Sam tried to reason. He knew Dean hated witches, so he hoped that Dean would give in. The sudden look of determination in Dean's face said that he had taken the bait.

"What are we waiting for, then? Sammy, get the bill."

The local Save-A-Lot wasn't much to look at, but to Sam it was an oasis. It was nearly impossible to get Dean into an organic restaurant, so Sam had been without his favourite meals for a while. So while Dean hunted the store for witch killing ingredients, Sam eagerly browsed the organic section.

While deciding between ancient grain oatmeal and gluten free cereal bars, Sam found himself in front of a display of blenders. A sign reading "Make Smoothies in a Snap!" gave Sam an excellent idea. If Dean wouldn't go to the health food, then the health food would come to him.

Sam discarded his breakfast options and begin to browse the blenders. The Vitamix 5200 stole his heart. It's blades looked down right menacing, and the box claimed it could blend whole apples into juice. This was the blender Sam needed. Armed with this new appliance, Sam knew he could turn Dean into a health food lover, even if he didn't know it.

Sam caught up with Dean in the spice aisle, looking slightly angry and very confused. As Sam got closer, he could see just how perplexed Dean really was. Sam knew that grocery shopping wasn't Dean's forte, so he tried to stay composed for the sake of his brother. "Hey," he said casually when the two were close enough.

Dean's brow furrowed. "Hey. It was pointless to come here. I mean, how many bargain marts have you been in that carry dew of the sea?"

Dean was skeptical, but Sam was only amused. He hefted his box under one arm and started to browse the spices. "Dew of the sea is just another name for rosemary, Dean," Sam explained. He pulled a small bottle of rosemary from the shelf and tossed it to Dean.

"Oh." Sam couldn't help but smile a little at Dean's dead pan. As he shifted the weight of the blender once more, Dean finally noticed it. "What's with the box?" Dean asked as he nodded in the direction of Sam's blender. Sam held the box out so that Dean could get a better look.

"It's a blender."

Dean looked at the box in front of him, and then peered at Sam over the top. Sam could tell that Dean thought he had gone insane, and his smile grew with every one of Dean's facial expressions. "Yeah, I can see that it's a blender. What are you doing with it?"

Now it was time for Sam's crucial performance. Convincing Dean that they needed this blender was reliant on Sam's ability to lie. And Sam was very good at lying.

"I thought we could use it to grind up the chicken feet. It says on the box that it can blend whole apples into juice." That got Dean's attention. His face quickly transitioned from "I'm going to have to institutionalize Sam" to "I'm going to have to high five Sam".

"Awesome. This is gonna be just like that time when that chick put the guy's head in the blender and.." Dean trailed off as he realized that Sam was not that excited. He actually looked kind of disgusted. Whatever. Dean wasn't that excited either, even if this was a chance to reenact one of his favourite horror movie death scenes.

It was fine. They didn't have a head, anyway.

Dean was definitely not disappointed when a careful examination of his witch killing spell revealed the main ingredient to be _chopped_ chicken's feet. He did not mourn the lost potential of their newest appliance, nor did he retreat to the TV to sulk and wait for Sam to make supper.

When Sam asked if he could use the blender to make food instead, Dean merely shrugged. As the blender whirred to life, Sam rubbed his hands together and focused on the task ahead. If he was going to make something healthy that Dean would like, he needed to give 110%.

Almost as soon as the racket from the blender started, strange smell started to waft towards Dean. Some smells he recognized: the overpowering smell of onions, the earthy smell of mushrooms. Some smells Dean was sure were only caused by black magic, and so he decided to stay by the TV and not look at Sam's creation until it was finished. After a while, a plate was dropped in Dean's lap, followed by Sam plunking down beside him.

"This looks awesome, Sam," Dean exclaimed as he examined his plate. Sam had made him a burger, and it was the juiciest goddamn burger he had ever seen. Dean hadn't even noticed the hamburger meat when they were unpacking the groceries earlier, but he had been too caught up with the blender to notice much of anything.

Dean peeled off the bun to get a better look at the burger. It was covered in a mysterious sauce, and Dean looked to Sam for explanation.

"I made it," Sam muttered around a mouthful of his own burger in response to Dean's unspoken question. Sam pretended to ignore Dean in favour of the TV, but watched his brother from the corner of his eye.

Apparently Sam's explanation was good enough for Dean, because he nodded to himself and put his burger back together. Sam stopped chewing and held his breath as Dean took his first bite.

Dean's shoulders relaxed as he savoured the deliciousness that was his supper. Sam might have been into some weird health food shit, but he could still make a mean burger. Even the homemade sauce was awesome, even if Sam had been more than generous with its application. "Sammy, this is really good," Dean managed to articulate around his own mouthful of food.

Sam said nothing, but allowed a smile to creep across his face. Dean was happily gnashing on something that was totally healthy, and he didn't even know it. The burgers Sam had made were made from vegetables which Sam had whipped into a pulp with his new blender. He had also made his own sauce, which he used to cover Dean's burger and hopefully mask the flavour of any particularly pungent ingredients.

If doing all of the cooking meant that Dean would be eating healthily, then Sam was up to the challenge. He worried about Dean's health all of the time, even if Dean never worried himself. The last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to be running from some monster, only to have his heart give out. With the amount of grease Dean ate daily, that was a possibility.

Sam decided that cooking would add some normalcy to his life, so he couldn't really complain. It would be fun to see how many vegetables he could cram in a meal without Dean noticing. Sam vowed to himself that he would cook for Dean whenever he could, because he owed it to his brother.

Dean was always looking out for Sam. It was time for Sam to look out for Dean.


	7. Blink

Sam awoke in his bed, warm and comfortable. He didn't bother to open his eyes, as an easy silence filled his room. No commotion meant safety, and safety meant staying in bed. It had been ages since Sam had been able to sleep in, and he relished the idea. Sam wrapped his blankets tighter around himself and snuggled as deep into the mattress as he could.

Just as Sam was drifting to unconsciousness once more, a shout pierced through the quiet from down the hall.

"God _damnit,_ Cas!"

Sam cracked one eye open to look at his clock. 9:30 was a reasonable time for Dean to be shouting, even if Sam was still trying to sleep. Pretending that he had never opened an eye, Sam huffed and covered his head with his blankets. Hopefully Cas had stopped doing whatever was making Dean yell.

"Shit! Come on, let's go again!"

Both of Sam's eyes opened this time, as he was fully awake. Sam glared at his alarm clock as more of Dean's shouts filtered through to his room. He had two options: he could pretend he wasn't awake and continue to lie in bed, or he could get up and see what was wrong with Dean. Getting up also held the possibility of getting Dean to shut up.

Sam was a man of action, so he begrudgingly crawled out of his blankets and went in search of Dean. The hallway was cold, so halfway through his search Sam went back to his room and grabbed his blanket. There was still some warmth left, and so he quickly wrapped himself up. With the edge of his blanket dragging on the floor behind him, Sam restarted his quest to silence Dean and go back to sleep.

Sam found Dean in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from Cas. Dean's face wore a look of complete determination. He was leaning forward, and his hands were gripping his knees. Cas wore his usual blank expression. Neither of them were blinking.

Sam slowly inched around Cas and Dean, not wanting to disturb them from whatever it was that they were doing. If he had to be up he might as well have some breakfast. He had almost made it to the fridge when Dean's voice cut through the air.

"Are you freaking _kidding_ me?!"

Sam jumped a little, startled by Dean's sudden outburst. He almost tripped over his blanket, but managed to compose himself before anyone noticed.

Dean was rubbing his face in exasperation, while Cas looked like he hadn't moved since Sam entered the room.

"I got all day, Cas. I can wait you out."

"As an immortal being, surely you must know that you cannot outwait me."

Sam got himself a glass of orange juice and sat on the countertop, watching this strange scene unfold. He was hoping that either Dean or Cas would give away what they were doing without him asking.

"Immortal means nothing in this house, bud. You're going down."

After that threat, Dean and Cas shifted into more comfortable positions, and once more took up their posts as silent, unblinking watchmen. Sam jumped off of the counter and began fixing himself some breakfast. His bread was barely in the toaster when Dean was howling once again. Sam had had enough of this. It was time to stop whatever this was. He whipped around to face Dean, blanket billowing around his ankles.

"Dean! What the hell are you guys doing?"

Dean looked angry and slightly embarrassed. He stared at Sam without saying a word, so Cas decided to speak up.

"Both Dean and I desired the last breakfast pastry, so he devised a challenge in which we could compete for it."

Sam was staring at Dean with wide eyes, as he finally realized what had been going on.

"A staring contest? Dean, I've never seen Cas blink. Ever."

Apparently Sam was stating the obvious, because Dean rolled his eyes.

"I know, okay? I just wanted to, you know, beat him at his own game. But the guy's unbreakable, Sam. I threw water in his face and he didn't even move."

Sam knew how competitive Dean could get, and also how much he loved breakfast pastries. If Dean hadn't woken Sam up, he might have offered to go out and buy them all breakfast. Regardless, he now felt rallied to Dean's cause. He wanted to make Cas blink.

Toast forgotten, Sam sat beside Cas and nodded to Dean. Dean acknowledged Sam's commitment with a nod back as he challenged Cas to another staring contest.

Minutes ticked by as Sam tried to distract Cas to no avail. He poked Cas in the face: nothing. He shouted in Cas' ear: not even a flinch. He even shoved his cold toast into Cas' mouth. Cas merely chewed the dry toast and stared on.

Apparently Cas didn't want to play this game all day, for his shoulders eventually sagged. Dean was rubbing his dried out eyes and Sam's brows were knotted in frustration when Cas spoke.

"Dean, you are going to damage your eyes if we play this game for much longer. We will have one more competition to see who is the winner."

Dean, red-eyed and out of options, merely nodded.

Sam watched Dean's face as it contorted in concentration. He knew Dean couldn't win this one, not against the ever stoic Castiel. He had to think of a way to help his brother, and fast. Dean's eyes were already squinting from the pain.

Before he could come up with a better idea, Sam poked Cas in the eye. While Cas would have liked very much to leave his eye open, his vessel's reflexes quickly slammed his eyelids shut. Cas groaned and rubbed his throbbing eye, quickly healing it.

"Sam. Why would you do that."

Sam was horrified. He had panicked and done the first thing that came to mind, which apparently was driving his finger into Cas' eye. Sam silently looked from Cas to Dean, who was wearing a tremendous grin.

"Dude, I won! I friggin' won!" Dean was over the moon. Sam's horror subsided as Cas watched Dean with his usual blank slate expression, obviously unharmed from Sam's assault. Dean jumped up from the floor, jabbing his finger in Cas' face. "That pastry is mine."

As Dean busied himself with his breakfast of champions, Sam offered to make breakfast for Cas as an apology for his earlier attack. Much to Sam's confusion, Cas' politely declined.

"I appreciate the offer, but it is pointless. Angels do not eat; everything simply tastes like molecules."

Sam adjusted his blanket and cocked his head to one side. "So if you don't eat, how come you were fighting with Dean over breakfast?"

Cas gave Sam an enigmatic grin before vanishing in a flurry of feathers and trenchcoats. Sam was left standing in the middle of his kitchen, wrapped in a blanket, wondering what Cas was playing at.

The smell of pastries wrapped around Sam and roused him from his thoughts. He decided to let the issue with Cas go and focus on snagging some pastry from Dean. After all, without Sam, Dean would have never won in the first place.


End file.
